


Phantom Syndrome

by Thaumiel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Other, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Soldier Enhancement Program, Soldier Enhancement Program Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-02 08:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16783210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaumiel/pseuds/Thaumiel
Summary: You are Soldier 122, a unique candidate for the U.S. Soldier Enhancement Program. Former Specialist, your area of expertise lies in man-machine interfacing, communications, tactics and enemy subterfuge. Your old life is gone, and on paper, you're dead. That was part of the deal. This is who you are now.You feel very isolated, and your task seems very daunting. You'd probably have lost your shit long ago if it weren't for the company of Soldier 24.It's a shame, the difficulty that the future holds for the both of you.It really is.(Reader-insert fanfiction spanning from the end-days of the SEP, all the way to modern era post-Petras Act operations.)





	1. 122 Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is written with the intent for you to insert either yourself or your OC. You can read it as is, or you can copy and paste it, replacing the following items:
> 
> (Y/N) - The desired first name  
> (Y/N2) - The desired surname  
> (Y/N3) - The desired callsign. For example, "Mercy" for Angela, or "Reaper" for Reyes. What would your callsign be?
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction, I hope it's not TOO painful.  
> I'm kind of terrified, but fuck it, I'll indulge in a little guilty pleasure.

Was this the fifth procedure? Or the fifteenth? You couldn’t remember, and each operation seemed to tax you more than the last. You groaned, your head and forearms aching from the most recent set of implants.

You opened your eyes. Blurry.

“Ah, 122, you’ve regained consciousness!” A tight-throated, anxious voice babbled. The head surgeon. You’d become something of a pet project, for him. He stood at the foot of your bed, his short, balding form regarding you with what felt like a little too much excitement. He was quite thin, and had the poor posture of someone who spent too long hunched over, engaged in meticulous, precision work.

“Now, try to think of your comrades. Tell me what happens.”

As if unbidden, you thought of the only person on base who even gave you more than a cursory glance. Soldier 24’s stern face and faraway gaze came into your mind’s eye.

Suddenly, you felt your eyes roll back into your skull, and any semblance of bodily function was ripped from you. You couldn’t feel your limbs, but the vague sound of the restraints on your arms and legs being pulled taut told you that you were probably convulsing. Blinding pain tore up your spine and engulfed your skull. You were given a precise, pinpoint-clear knowledge of where this man was located. You screamed.

Somewhere, off from down the hall, you could have sworn you heard the guttural scream of the man you knew as Reyes, too...

It was too late. Unsure of if you heard anything at all, or if it was just your imagination, you slumped back down onto the hospital bed. A heavy cloud of white specks quickly eclipsed your vision, your consciousness fading away once more.

You dreamed.

  
——

  
It wasn’t by choice that you ended up here, but here you were. The only female candidate selected for the Soldier Enhancement Program.

Surrounding you were the highest performing soldiers of recent deployments. All candidates were strong, detached and battle-hardened. Fighters, every single one of them. Then, there was you. (Y/N) (Y/N2), known affectionately by the callsign (Y/N3), tactician and cybernetics expert, specializing in man-machine interfaces and enemy subterfuge. What the hell did they want with _you_? You were brains, these beefcakes were all brawn.

“I’ll make this clear,” a voice boomed from the rear of the presentation room, the door slamming open, “you’re all dead, on paper. As far as the world outside is concerned, you’re all KIA, and this program doesn’t exist.”

He strode to the front of the room, slamming his palms down on the bare, utilitarian table intended for prospective presenters to set their equipment.

“That means, I own your asses. Literally.”

You swallowed hard, noting a couple of uncomfortable shuffles from among your group. The pay offered was lucrative - after all, that’s what made you take this opportunity - but you wondered how many of those among the 15 or so in the room were beginning to regret accepting that offer. The man addressing you bore the mien of a particularly malicious drill sergeant, and you could tell immediately that he was one of the ranking officers. You weren’t the only one who sensed something untoward about this man’s aura.

“You will report to your quarters, where each of you will be visited in turn and informed of what is expected of you. You assume your new lives in five hours. Dismissed.”

You turned to leave, but felt his gaze burning into the back of your skull. “WAIT. Specialist (Y/N2).”

You froze. That was you.

“Not you. You come with me.”

Obediently, you turned on your heel.

“Yes, sir!”

You were apprehensive, but not wanting to piss the brass off on the first day, you followed, your veneer of calm confidence holding steady.

  
——

  
The base’s surgical recovery room came into fuzzy view once more. You sighed and scanned your surroundings, wondering how long you were down for _this_ time.

It wasn’t the clock that you saw, but Soldier 24 himself. He was sitting at your bedside, arms crossed, ankle resting on one knee, smiling the kind of coy half-smile that told you he was already aware of what had happened. He seemed to have been watching you.

“That’s a hell of a party trick you pulled, (Y/N2). Knocked me flat on my ass. Woke up here in recovery, didn’t even have time to blink.”

You sat up in your bed, the restraints on your arms and legs still fixed in place. Reyes took the liberty of adjusting the back of the bed for you.

“You think next time you can buy me dinner first before you do me dirty like that?” he smirked, a chuff of amusement giving you the impression that he was fairly impressed.

“It worked, then? We connected?” You asked, your back aching to signal you that yet another procedure had been performed while you were unconscious.

“From what I was told, it’s a work in progress. So for lack of a better explanation, yeah.”

You leaned back against the bed.

At that moment, an excited warble came from the other end of the clinic. Reyes leaned back again, rolling his eyes, “Christ, here it comes.”

Right on cue, the squirrelly little surgeon scuttled over from the far end of the room, beaming as if he’d just found a secret stash of the world’s finest Chinese leftovers. Food. Shit, you hadn’t eaten in what felt like days.

“It was a success!” He screeched, babbling incoherently, mostly to himself, about the finer points of all the procedures that were foisted on you to get to this point.

“Your brain has taken to the necessary gymnastics involved with operating the locational awareness software far better than expected! You managed to divert so much activity to the operation of the installed apparatus that you almost caused damage to yourself, _and_ 24 here, to boot! As a precaution, you’ve been fitted with a... a limiter of sorts. It will prevent this from happening again.”

He bent to check on the latest incisions behind your neck, mumbling to himself.

“I’ve also taken the liberty of installing a visual drive to store everything you see and hear. If - heaven forbid - something were to, er... go awry, it’s my hope that we can at least learn from what happened.”

You felt uneasy at the prospect.

“Gee, thanks, Doc,” Reyes butted in, “I’m sure 122 is relieved that every time she goes to make a head call you’ll be right there watching,” he leaned over and mock-whispered to you, “you know, just in case something goes _awry_.”

The surgeon floundered, “I- I can assure you that’s not the case! It’s integrated to 122’s existing neural systems, and is secure unless removed, or access is granted by the user.”

“Hey 122, you hear that? You can grant him _access_ to your finest porcelain solos!”

By now, Reyes was almost laughing. You felt the edges of your mouth curling up into a suppressed giggle, too.

“Ah w-well, yes yes, they do say laughter is the best medicine. Carry on! I’m certain you’ll be ready to resume training soon!” The surgeon hurriedly excused himself.

When he was out of earshot, Reyes turned to you and smiled, “Don’t sweat it, we’ve all had to deal with his garbage post-enhancement.”

Eyeing the red marks on your wrists from your convulsions earlier, he leaned forward and loosened your restraints a little, “Do me a favor next time though, yeah?”

“Sure,” you looked to him, “After what I put you through, I owe you anyway, right?”

He snickered, “I was kidding about dinner. Not like there’s anywhere to go on base, anyway. But, next time you’re testing the loc-sys, see how it works on 76 for me.”

With a mischievous smile, he stood, and left. You wondered briefly how long it would have taken you to lose your shit if you didn’t have at least one person talking to you.

You didn’t like the answer, and chose to stop wondering.

Laying back against the bed, you slipped once more into a restless, dream-filled sleep.

  
——

  
You followed the officer down a narrow hallway behind the presentation room, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. The sickly off-green chosen to paint this place was a mistake to be sure, but it matched your gut feeling perfectly. The corridor was dotted with windows here and there, each offering view into various rooms cluttered with medical apparatus.

You got the distinct feeling that the glass was one-sided. This was supposed to be a training facility. If it were a training facility, then why did it look so much like a hospital? So that made this, what, a viewing corridor of sorts?

“Oof, careful there-“

You were snapped out of your musings by a large, strong pair of hands steadying your shoulders. You had just walked directly into the chest of a tall, olive-skinned man with a husky voice and neatly trimmed goatee. He wore fatigues, perhaps another soldier? You noticed “Soldier 24” was displayed where a typical soldier’s name would be. He smelled of sweat and dirt, no doubt borne of a hard day’s training, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Behind him, a man of the same height, blonde of hair and fair of skin. This man smiled a bemused half-smile, which soured to something of a wince when he realized the officer leading you was in no mood for such games.

“Specialist (Y/N2), eyes front,” the officer barked, “24, as you were!”

Your gaze snapped back to the officer, “Yes, sir!”

Damnit. You fucked up.

Soldier 24, seemingly unfazed, released your shoulders and offered you a reassuring smile before heading on his way. You got the feeling he had been here for quite a while.

A little shaken, but determined not to make a fool of yourself any further, you gathered your wits and followed the officer the rest of the way, your eyes firmly fixed on the back of his head. You clenched your jaw, silently cursing yourself for appearing so incompetent in front of no less than three members of the program.

“Great start, (Y/N),” you thought to yourself.

No sooner had you thought such, than you reached the end of the hall. The officer opened a heavy steel door to reveal a small office, a large steel desk placed aptly in the center. A couple of bookcases filled to the brim with binders labelled "001" through "121", "Regulations", "Crisis Management" and many others were visible on the far wall. A flag and pot-plant, long since dead, sat in the far corner. He motioned to an uncomfortable looking chair. You took a seat.

“You’ve noticed by now that you’re different to the rest of the recruits here,” he stated in a matter-of-fact way, taking his place opposite you, “I know you have, because if you haven’t, you’re not the right person for this job.”

You swallowed hard. Why did your mouth feel so dry?

“Yes sir, I’ve noticed.”

What were you supposed to say? That you’re used to working intel? That you’re concerned you may have fucked up? That you’re scared shitless? That you took the opportunity out of necessity rather than objective interest?

Your thoughts were interrupted.

“So far, the Soldier Enhancement Program has been centered on individual soldiers. We’ve been pushing the physical limits of what the human body can do, down here. But you? You’re going to be pushing other boundaries.”

You took a sudden interest. What did he mean by ‘other boundaries’?

“What happens in the field when a comms array goes down? Or a sandstorm jams long-range signals? You end up alone out there, relying on meat and mettle when you’re up against an army of weaponized toasters that can cut through that interference like a hot knife through butter,” he leaned forward, “and you will become the countermeasure.”

“I-I’ll do my best. Sir.”

The thought terrified you. What was he talking about? You were already a communications specialist. Your thoughts turned to the operating theaters and hospital beds you walked past on the way here.

“You won’t just do your best, (Y/N2). You’ll do better than your best could have ever been. You will undergo procedures to augment your ability to track and communicate with your peers. By the end of this, you should be able to mentally connect to every soldier on this base without even lifting a finger,” his gaze hardened, “and one more thing: Specialist (Y/N) (Y/N2) is dead.”

You felt your throat tighten again.

“ _You are Soldier 122._ ”


	2. Historical Data

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You awake to find 24 at your bedside.
> 
> How embarrassing. You can't even feed yourself.  
> Not like you can really do much about it.
> 
> Best retreat to the comfort of your memories, while you wait to heal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired. I'm tilted. I just let my comp team down 0-2. I should be fucking hung.
> 
> But hey, this was on my phone and I'm posting it. ~~It's a little unpolished. I'll fix this, more like than not.~~ **fixed.**  
>  This is deceptively vanilla. Please don't bookmark this if you're weak of stomach; the future is less than ideal.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated.

You awoke to the sound of a metal tray being placed at your bedside; a premade meal of heat-n’-eat fare. It seemed the state either couldn’t or wouldn’t spare the expense required for a chef to reside on base, so you and your fellow soldiers were tasked with heating and distributing rations as part of your chores.

But, you? Lately, they’d been feeding you through a tube. The restraints on your arms and legs were an unpleasant necessity until your new neural implants had healed into place, as from time to time you would suffer convulsions. It was just the nature of these experiments, but it made eating difficult.

“How you feelin’, (Y/N3)?”

It was Reyes. He had brought your meal to you. You were fairly sure that he went out of his way to do this, but you were too tired to ask. Instead, you simply gave him the most grateful smile you could muster, thankful that for once you weren’t about to be fed from a bag of nutritional sludge.

“Such a gentleman. I guess this counts as our dinner date, then?” You joked, your voice slightly hoarse from slumber.

“Only the finest for my lady,” he mock bowed, and then winced, loading up a fork with what appeared to be some kind of scrambled eggs. It didn’t look in the least bit appetizing, and you both knew to expect this, but the knowledge of such didn’t serve to make it any tastier.

“Thankyou for doing this, Reyes. You know you don’t have to-“

He moved the fork to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, gratitude or whatever. Save it. Now open wide, here comes the _ae-ro-plaaaane_!“

His face twisted into what you assumed was supposed to be some kind of sarcastic expression, no doubt intended to embarrass you for being trussed up like a Christmas turkey. It was too much. You never expected to see Reyes babying you like this, let alone in this situation. Something about a face as stern as his contorting into such playful expressions managed to set you off.

You snorted, inhaling the eggs and proceeding to choke, before coughing them out, laughing. Due to the restraints, you were unable to cover your mouth. Oh, no. What a disaster. A small amount of egg landed on his cheek.

Putting aside the fork and tray, he sat back, surveying the mess you had just made of his fatigues. With a look that spoke equal parts dismay and admiration, he clapped slowly once, twice, and.... once more.

“Great, I'll pass word to command that _you_ should be the one drilling us on demolitions,” he mused, taking some nearby gauze and using it to wipe himself.

“I- oh. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. But the face you made, it was just-“ you started, unable to tell him that he missed the egg on his face.

“It was just...?” he loaded up another forkful.

“...unexpected.”

You smiled, this time managing to eat without causing mass destruction.

“That’s two you owe me,” Reyes’ face returned to his usual far-off gaze and the calm smile he typically only shared when with you or 76.

“Hey, I thought you said not to worry abou-“

Another forkful in your face.

“You haven’t had a chance to ping Morrison yet, so I’m allowed to keep a tally,” he scooped more eggs onto the fork, “come on, eat up. Doctor Frankenfuck back there tells me you haven’t had anything to eat for around 48 hours.”

Sure enough, the head surgeon was still puttering about, this time, checking charts. Reyes and yourself were always careful not to let anyone hear you calling each other by anything other than your assigned numbers. You were breaking protocol by using your former names, but somehow, you felt that these small concessions were helping to keep the both of you sane in a place that was ultimately built upon isolation.

“You know, I’ve heard rumors that things are getting pretty bad, topside. The bots are really beginning to put the hurt on us,” you listened quietly, doing your best to make it easy for Reyes to feed you, “The brass is moving up our training schedule. From what I can tell, you’re the last piece of the puzzle. It’s nothing official yet, but once Loc-Sys is up to scratch, they’re probably gonna deploy us right away.”

You finished the last of your meal, a satisfied and somewhat relieved look becoming apparent on 24’s face. Oh, no. His face. He still had egg on his cheek.

“Ah, Reyes? Your face.”

“What about it?” His gaze shifted to the small mirror above the basin across from your bed, spotting the misplaced morsel from afar. He stroked his goatee.

“Ahh, I see. Looks like you got me good, (Y/N2). I appear to have,” he looked back to you, pausing for dramatic effect, “egg on my face.”

You pressed your lips together and frowned, trying hard not to laugh, but ultimately failing, as the erratic tensing of your stomach muscles gave you away. He smiled at that. This was Gabriel fucking Reyes: sarcasm and puns.

“Care to help?” he leaned in close, his cheek right next to your face. He still smelled like sweat and dirt, and lately, you found that comforting.

With the tip of your tongue, you licked the offending food item from the side of his face. His skin was saltier than you expected. You didn’t mind. It seemed to make him happy to be this close to you, and you were thankful to have someone who trusted you enough to play around like this.

He stood abruptly, a hand to his cheek in mock-ecstasy, “And he _never washed that cheek again_!”

You giggled. Who gave this man license to roast you so hard? You couldn’t deny that he was damn funny though, and for all his wit, you could tell that he was only acting this way because it made you both smile. It was his way of showing you that he cared. You felt warm inside.

“Hurry up and heal, 122. We have a world to save. No pressure.”

He smiled once more, before turning and leaving from whence he came. You sank back against the bed and smiled to yourself. The world outside was going to hell, for sure, but here in the safety of the SEP’s underground training facility, you could put those thoughts on hold for another day or two. You’d have to confront the reality of this war sooner or later, so there was no harm in resting up while you still could.

With little left to do but rest and heal, your thoughts turned to the past, back to when you first got the chance to meet Reyes outside of the viewing corridor’s chance encounter.

——

The smell of bland chicken and stale vegetables permeated the air as you made your way to the cafeteria counter. A short, efficient line passed a stack of trays, before curving past a group of three men dishing out whatever the hell breakfast was, and then dispersing back to the various steel tables set in rows about the place. You decided to brave the breakfast queue, picking up a tray and taking your place in line.

The procession moved fast enough, and for the most part, everyone ignored you. Occasionally, you’d catch someone staring at you, but upon meeting your gaze, they’d immediately look elsewhere as if to avoid being caught. It was oddly upsetting, to be surrounded by people who were clearly interested enough to stare, but to be so isolated - even in this large a crowd - that nobody was willing to follow through and strike up a conversation.

It had been like this since you got here. Was your gender truly that much of a barrier? You glanced around the cafeteria. Sure enough, your fellow soldiers had formed groups of varying sizes, talking to one another casually. Yet, you had been afforded no chance to develop any such bonds, yet. Not a single person had approached you since you got here, and when you had approached others, those you interacted with were guarded and concise.

Your thoughts were interrupted by some kind of shredded-chicken-in-vegetable-slop being heaped into the tray you were carrying. You nodded in thanks and turned to find a table, but upon realizing that you knew nobody and thus had nowhere to sit, you stopped dead.

The man behind you also stopped dead, but not before walking into you. He smelled like sweat and dirt. You had smelled this before, somewhere...

“I hope this isn’t gonna be a running theme,” a familiar voice from behind you offered. You turned around and opened your mouth to apologize for once again being underfoot, but found yourself cut off before you could speak.

“So, come here often?”

It was 24 again, smiling that same wry half-smile that told you he was both amused and making fun of you. The blonde man from the corridor was with him again, the ‘76’ on his uniform now clearly visible to you.

“Reyes, what’s the hold-up? Find us a table and park your ass, alrea-,” he noticed you and his friendly tone immediately cooled, “oh, hello.”

“I’m really sorry, my mind was els-“ you started, but once again found yourself cut off by 24’s deeper tones, as he glanced back to 76.

“I was just going to invite, uh...” he looked to your uniform, searching for a name.

“(Y/N2),” you blurted out, quickly realizing your mistake, “I mean, 122.”

They both chuckled, and the man you now knew to be Reyes put a hand on the back of your shoulder, ushering you toward a table. You had been standing in the way of the general populace for about half a minute, now. That was half a minute too long.

“I’m Reyes-I-Mean-24, and this is Morrison-I-Mean-76. But, you didn’t hear it from us.”

You felt your face redden, taking a seat next to 24, 76 opting to sit across from you. How embarrassing. Three days in, and you’re still making a fool of yourself. You took a spoonful of ‘chicken a-la garbage’ to your mouth and chanced a glance upward, only to find 76 eyeing the both of you between bites, one brow raised. Was something amiss? You looked to Reyes, who offered no clue, as he was too busy wolfing down whatever this hellish ass-soup was.

It was awkward. This situation felt strange and vaguely uncomfortable. But really, you were just thankful for some kind of human contact. Isolation has always done strange things to your mind, and being together with these two, no matter how forced it seemed, was a welcome breath of fresh air.

24 finished first, and struck up some small conversation. You learned a little about what the other two were going through in order to augment their abilities, and told them a little about your own.

Reyes and Morrison listened, their expressions slowly turning to that of concern.

“We were both pumped full of nanites and god knows what else,” Reyes paused, taking a deep breath.

“It wasn’t fun. But what you’re talking about is something else. Open brain surgery? Implants in your spine and forearms?” Reyes’ brow furrowed, he and 76 exchanging a knowing glance and lengthy pause.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice wavered a little, “Is there something I should know?”

Morrison leaned in toward the middle of the table, looking adjacent to make certain nobody was within earshot.

“We’re numbered 1 through 122. You don’t see 122 of us here.”

He was right. In the cafeteria, there were perhaps 60 at most. Reyes’ expression hardened. He turned back to you.

“From time to time, someone will fall ill during training, or go missing. Maybe they just won’t come back from a routine nanite infusion,” he explained in a hushed voice, “or maybe they step a little too far out of line, learn something they’re not supposed to.”

You felt a chill run up your neck. You were set for your first procedure today.

The sound of two soldiers approaching ended the conversation, both Morrison and Reyes sitting back upright to greet them. You were anxious to learn more, but it would have to wait.

“Yo, we’re being graded on fitness today. Better bring your A-game, farm boy,” the taller of the two boasted playfully, ruffling 76’s hair, “45’s taking bets on who’s gonna come out on top.”

“Well that won’t be you now, will it, pillow princess?” 76 smirked, standing and picking up his empty tray, then dumping it onto the pile that his boisterous assailant was carrying. Reyes simply raised a hand to his mouth, trying not to laugh. You turned away, following suit.

A resounding chorus of laughter, “ooh”s, “burn”s and at least one “press F to pay respects” rose from the surrounding tables, and seemed to trigger some kind of mass exodus from the cafeteria. Before long, it was just you, 24, and cleanup left. He leaned back close.

“Look, (Y/N2). When you go in for a session with medical, tell me. I’ve been here longer than most, and I’ve never seen anyone live through the kind of stuff they have you slated for,” his gaze took a slightly softer tone, “I’ll come and check on you. You know, make sure you’re holding up okay. Sound good?”

You smiled, and nodded. Someone cared about you. Maybe you didn’t have to be alone, after all.

“That's just it, though. I won’t be at training. My first procedure is today,” you offered.

Reyes’ eyes creased into a sympathetic smile as he stood, picking your tray up.

“Well, lets go, then. I’ll walk you there.”

“Won’t you be late for your dick-measuring contest?”

Reyes chuckled at that, “What, the betting pool? I'm not fazed. I always bet on Morrison, anyway. He’s damn fast, just wait ‘til you see him.”

Your trays clattered on the dish cart, and once again you found Reyes’ reassuring hand on the back of your shoulder, his other motioning to the door as if inviting you to walk with him. He seemed much more open and relaxed, now that it was just the two of you. Perhaps he wasn’t a ‘people person’? That would explain 76’s reaction to the two of you.  
  
In that, you were very alike.

You walked in comfortable silence most of the way, feeling a little guilty that 24 had chosen to accompany you to the surgical ward at the expense of arriving to training on time. Regardless, you couldn’t deny that it put you at ease to know that at least someone was there, should any ill befall you.

For the first time since arriving, you felt some small warmth in your chest, and held hope for the future.


	3. Rules and Restraints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re healing. This is good.  
> It’s time to begin putting your augments through their paces.
> 
> And really, if it weren’t for Reyes, you wouldn’t be progressing anywhere near as quickly as you are.
> 
> You’ve come to learn some new things about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve had this written for a while, but decided to let it sit for a bit. Work has been kicking my ass, and I’ve been sleeping too much on top of that.
> 
> I already know the entirety of this story. It’s just a matter of writing it down. As canon lore is updated, I may go back and change things. Right now, I’m taking liberties with things that are blank.
> 
> Hopefully this isn’t too torturous to read. I prefer to heat the pot slowly, over time, with regard to story content. It’s more real, that way.  
> Feedback is always appreciated.

You dumped the datapad on your bedside table. Infuriating. Somehow, these Omnics had become rampant, and became such after a long slumber. No matter how hard you tried, your searches had turned up nothing about how or why they were reactivated. Deciphering archived omnic code with the help of your new augments yielded little of worth, save for a few algorithms used to identify themselves among peers. Even these were constantly changing; you had to put them down to subroutines to even keep up with the encryption keys necessary to read this trash.

Your head hurt. The clock showed 0300. How long had you been at this, anyway? You needed to take a break, this little sojourn into ‘know thy enemy’ could stand to wait a little.

Your thoughts turned to Reyes and Morrison, and unintentionally - perhaps because of how deeply you’d been using your augments today - the locational awareness system sprang to life. A quiet hum began to make its presence known in the base of your skull, and you became aware of exactly where the two were on base.

You hadn’t attempted to use Loc-Sys since the first connection with 24, and doing so without the restraints, or any kind of supervision was foolhardy. Idiot. Your adrenal response kicked in.

You didn’t feel the same blinding pain as last time, but something was definitely acting on your nervous system. The hum at the base of your skull was situated along roughly the same place. Perhaps the limiter was actually doing its job?

The door to the recovery ward slammed open, interrupting your thoughts. You whipped your head around to behold Reyes, half-dressed and out of breath, boots unlaced and wide-eyed. His hair was a mess, and he hadn’t shaved. What was he doing here? Why the hell was he even awake?

“Thank god.”

He lumbered to your bedside and threw his arms around your shoulders, holding you against his chest. Sweat and dirt. But this time, desperation as well. Damnit, was he in pain? You recalled the surgeon’s warning, that last time, you narrowly avoided damaging the both of you.

Instinctively, your fingers traced his upper spine, neck, and the base of his skull as if trying to find some trace of discomfort or wounding, even though you knew that any damage would be subdermal.

“R-Reyes? Are you alright? I think I just fat-fingered Loc-Sys, are you hurt?”

With the tips of your fingers, you felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. In addition, you became acutely aware of the sensation via Loc-Sys’ feedback algorithms. Immediately, you realized that Loc-Sys operates on more than simple locational data - you realized that it communicates user condition via relaying feelings of distress, anxiety, bewilderment and who-knows-what else.

The sound of approaching footfalls and 76’s cursing told you that Morrison wasn’t far behind.

“I’m fine, but you sent a clear distress call,” Reyes released you, holding your shoulders and looking you over, “you sure we don’t need to get anyone in here?”

You could feel his pulse in his hands. It was rapid. It must have been your adrenal reaction that brought him here in such a state.

“ _Reyes, 122_!”

A similarly disheveled Soldier 76 appeared at the door, sidearm drawn. Startled, you reflexively ducked into Reyes’ chest.

“Stand down, it was a misfire,” 24 informed him.

76 lowered his weapon and exhaled, slumping against the doorframe. After a short pause of respite, he approached.

“What in the hell just happened? One minute I’m dreaming about a corn field, the next thing I know, I feel like Dorothy’s whirlwind itself threatened to tear my sack off.” He brushed his hair back, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“The weird part is, I knew exactly where you were, and that you were in trouble.”

Reyes smiled wearily, “That’s Loc-Sys.”

Once again, you felt your cheeks redden. You fucked up again, and this time you cut your friends’ sleep short. What the hell was wrong with you? At this rate, you’ll have half the base ready to tear out your larynx over sleep deprivation, and nobody would be able to protect you from the salty ire of 60 pissed off soldiers. Wait, protection? You were still against Reyes’ chest. Oddly enough, he hadn’t let you go, yet.

You straightened yourself again and opened your mouth to apologize, but reading your expression, Reyes cut you off as he so often did. This man had an aptitude for reading people. You couldn’t help but feel he had the makings of a strong leader; one who would understand those under his command.

“You know, I was the one who told her to ping you after I got tagged in the first trial. Told you it wasn’t no love tap, Morrison,” he grinned, releasing your shoulders as he turned back to 76, “you should have seen your face when you came through that door.”

“No kidding. _I_ wasn’t incapacitated, though. I still think you’re just a big baby,” he slapped Reyes hard on the shoulder, earning a look that instantly told you Reyes was annoyed by that assessment. You had to say something.

“My systems were malfunctioning at first install,” you offered, “I almost fried both of our skulls.”

You figured this would be the perfect time to test another of your new augments: A newly developed holographic projection system. Somewhat like a personal computer interface, this technology allowed you to visually operate your systems, show content to others, and a myriad other things, all without the need for a monitor. You opened a viewport, loading a diagram with a couple of taps. With a swipe of your fingers, the window rotated, displaying the image to the two men before you, their eyes glowing with surprise and intrigue.

“Loc-Sys operates by augmenting the same nanites that you two already possess. It’s wireless, and operates peer to peer when no other method of relay is available,” you pointed to the diagram, your fingers tracing the outlines of a flowchart demonstrating the various connection types.

“It’s able to edit the base function of most typical nanite builds, and operates on subvocalization as read by typical brain-mice. The problem is,” you drew a circle around the heads of the diagrams representing Host and User, “during the first attempt to connect to someone - in this case, Reyes - there was a system overload. The rewrite was far too efficient, and since our bodies are swimming with nanites as it is, what should have been a mild sensation ended up feeling something like a sledgehammer.”

You moved to close the window, but swiping down, found your fingers met with Reyes’ own. He pulled his hand away.

“Heh, sorry. I wanted to see if I could use it, too.”

You grinned sheepishly, shutting off your projection systems.

“Well, you learn somethin’ new every day,” 76 mumbled, staring dumbfounded, still mesmerized by what he just witnessed. Reyes snapped his fingers a few times in front of Morrison’s face.

“Earth to farm boy, we got this thing called ‘technology’ here,” he chuckled, earning a quick shove to the shoulder for his efforts. Not one to take such a thing lightly, he shoved Morrison back, pushing him toward the door. Mumbling something about lost sleep, Morrison waved over his shoulder, heading back to bed.

Reyes followed suit, stopping at the door to look back at you for a few seconds, the calm smile that he often sported of late clearly visible on his face. Something was different this time, though, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You felt a tingle run up your spine, and an odd warmth in the pit of your stomach. You smiled back.

No sooner had you done so, than he turned and left, leaving you to your own devices once again.

Tomorrow you were to return to physical training, after a checkup and debriefing with the medical team overseeing the implementation of your new hardware. It was late, but you didn’t much feel the need for sleep since the last couple of procedures. Perhaps your brain was working differently?

You climbed back into bed, resting back against the pillow. A couple of hours’ rest couldn’t hurt. You closed your eyes, and found yourself thinking fondly of 24’s arms wrapped protectively around you. A signal emerged from 24’s quarters, and you came to understand this meant he had made it back safely.

You could have sworn that you felt something returned in the conditional feedback. Something that felt vaguely like, “I’m thinking of you, too.”

You smiled to yourself, choosing to replay past events from the visual drive as you slept, to help you prepare for tomorrow. Pulling up the playback menu, you selected the file from three days ago, and began playback from 0800.

The video eclipsed your vision, and you half-slept, listening to the recording from that day.

——

You sighed. The restraints had become unbearable very quickly after they had been affixed, but you understood it was pointless to struggle. The nanites that were standard SEP fare helped you heal faster, for sure, but you had still been strapped down here for what felt like an eternity. You had been assured that those same nanites would help prevent any muscular atrophy as you rested, but you couldn’t help feeling cabin fever’s panicky tendrils begin to grip you.

The door at the end of the clinic opened without warning, as it so often did, and you found yourself greeted by the head surgeon. Armed with nothing but a datapad, he shuffled over to you and made some small attempt at hospitality.

“122! Good morning! We have a, er, special schedule this morning,” he tittered, eyeing the data-feed above your bed, “your neurological activity has been remarkably stable lately, so I’ve recommended that we remove the restraints.”

Your eyes widened. Finally! He placed the datapad at your bedside table, making a few adjustments to your charts.

“N-now remember, you mustn’t overdo it! I’ve made it known that you should get some mild leg movement in, but you’re not to attend training until your augments are fully functional,” he cautioned, “a nurse will be by shortly to assist and document you. Feel free to move about the corridors, but steer clear of any large crowds or training equipment. We can’t have you overstimulated before your body has had time to adjust to the changes we’ve made.”

Your expression soured. Why the fuck couldn’t he just undo your restraints here and now? You slumped back against the pillow, annoyed. You hadn’t had a proper shower in weeks, and this asshat just dangled that prospect in front of you without delivering. Upon receiving a cursory “yes, Sir,” he turned, and left.

A few minutes later, you heard the footfalls of your comrades moving past the door to your ward, heading toward their various stations for the day. Forlornly, you stared at the silhouettes through the small, frosted, rectangular window in the center, wishing you could join them.

One of them stopped, peering through the frosted glass as if searching for something. You heard him saying something to someone else, but couldn’t make out anything more than mumbles from the rabble. Great, as if you didn’t have more than your share of stress already, someone was getting nosy. You turned your head away, opting instead to stare at the faux window at the other end of the ward, which projected a forested scene into a holographic alcove, giving the false impression that you were all above ground in some subtropical paradise. In reality, you knew that this window was one sided, and offered view into the ward for commanding officers. You wondered how many of those here knew that they were being watched through the very apparatus that were supposed to be giving them some kind of peace.

“Hey there, sleepy head.”

You jumped. You didn’t even hear Reyes approach, what the hell?

“Reyes! Where did you come from!?”

“Just a little trick they taught me. 76 might be fast, but speed doesn’t count for much if the bots can hear you coming,” he shrugged, taking his usual seat at your bedside.

“So, what’s on the agenda today for our captive hero, Princess (Y/N3)?”

You pressed your lips together and forced a smile, brushing off his remarks, “Once the nurses get here, they’re gonna ditch the restraints. Keep giving me reasons, and this _Princess_ is gonna shred you in your little dick-measuring contest, smartass.”

Reyes raised an eyebrow and laughed at your apparent outrage, “ _Oh ho_ , the Princess has a dick! That’s hot.”

You couldn’t stay indignant after that kind of rebuff. You both laughed. His expression softened.

“Look, there was an incident this morning. It’ll probably be a while before anyone gets here,” Reyes leaned forward and exhaled, gently running his thumb under the restraint that fastened your wrist, “I’m sure nobody will mind if these come off a little early.”

His hands were rough, but warm. Quietly, he undid the buckles that held your hands, and you found yourself taken aback by how gentle he could be.

“Hey, won’t they want to document this? I mean, when I get up, in case something goes wrong?” you asked, searching his face for some kind of reassurance.

By now he was at your ankles, “Well, _I’m_ here. Do you trust me?”

He removed the restraints on your right leg, carefully taking your foot in his hand and rotating your ankle to ensure you had adequate blood flow. You looked around the ward. It was just the two of you, and although you didn’t want to get into trouble, something about the way he asked made you _want_ to trust him.

He looked back to you, the restraint falling from your left ankle, his fingers still working to ensure you’d have function in your feet.

“You know what?” you replied, “Yeah. I do.”

Reyes stood up from the chair, offering his hands to steady you as you swung your legs down, climbing from the bed for the first time in weeks. Taking his hands, he helped you to your feet.

“Oh— _ngh_!”

Your legs crumpled from under you as you put weight on them, and you found yourself falling to the floor, only to be caught mid-air by Reyes. He let out a grunt and a hiss as you grabbed onto his forearms and regained your footing, steadied by his hands holding your torso.

You straightened yourself and looked to him, embarrassed. It was only then that you noticed his grunt must have been one of pain. Wincing and gritting his teeth, he sat back on the chair and held his forearms. The sleeves of his fatigues were spotted with blood.

“Jesus, what happened? Are you alright? Here, show me,” you quickly undid his sleeves, rolling them up to reveal a series of large puncture wounds that seemed to run deep into the muscle, the dressing having slipped off the arm that you grabbed.

“It’s nothing. Just part of my particular holiday package,” he grunted, reaching back to where he found the gauze the last time you wrecked his uniform.

“What the hell are they doing to you..?” Your face now a map of concern, you took the gauze from him, reaching for a fresh bandage to fix it in place. You couldn’t help but notice that the veins on his forearms stood out more than usual. Was this a side-effect of the treatment they were giving him?

You re-fastened the bandage in place and scanned his face for an indication of how he was feeling. His forehead was beaded with sweat and his brows were furrowed at the kind of upward angle that suggested he was suffering, but he seemed to be forcing a smile for you. He must be the type to keep things inside, you thought to yourself.

“I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

You wiped his brow with the back of your hand and chose to say no more.

“It’s not your fault. I’ll probably get chewed out at next infusion by the nurses, but that’s life,” he stood and readjusted his sleeves, exhaling sharply.

“You know, if you’re feeling up to it, you should come watch us train. You’ll need to know what you’re up against, to have any hope of competing.”

You picked up the datapad that was left at your bedside and walked alongside Reyes.

“I’d like that.”

“Oh, and for the record,” he paused, summoning as much smugness as he possibly could.

“Better a smartass than a dumbass.”

This motherfucker.

You nudged him playfully, and the two of you headed for the training compound.


	4. Aim Drill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looks like your augments are good to go.  
> Time to get kitted out and begin training.
> 
> Oh, but what's this? You keep getting into trouble, tsk-tsk.  
> Let's hope you don't get caught for whatever you and 24 are doing together at the range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell by the lack of posts, work has been pretty unrelenting since the holiday period. First, some context: My work is not time-sensitive, and I don't work with a team. I work alone, to deadlines. Today, I overslept. I was grilled for this and told that "the only people who oversleep are drug addicts, or those who are very ill."
> 
> Not to say anything of those who are depressed, have legitimate somnolence-inducing disorders, drowsiness-inducing medication or otherwise; I don't fall into any of these categories. Fatigue from over-exertion _is_ a thing, and my superior is a goddamn bumblefuck.
> 
> So, screw it. Today I'm posting on company time :)

The feeling of water running down your back was wonderful.

Airflow was omnipresent down here, but being underground, it still carried with it the particular brand of stagnancy that reeked of climate control and compressors. Truth be told, no amount of conditioning could really prepare you for life crammed down here in this proverbial sardine tin; it was either something that you could tolerate, or it was something that you couldn’t. Luckily for you, in your case it was the former.

You stepped away from the shower, the waterflow coming to a halt.

Three days ago, 45 proved to be one of the latter. From what you understood, he had snapped and attempted to force his way back to the surface, clawing his way through roughly 6 of your comrades and injuring them in the process. Reyes told you that they found him in the kitchens, babbling about how you’d all been sold out, and how everyone down here was fodder for the bots. He had pulled the filter off one of the cooktop exhaust intakes and lodged himself three feet inside a shaft that no man could have reasonably hoped to escape through, dislocating his shoulders in desperation. The nurses really had their hands full.

If it weren’t for Reyes releasing your restraints, you probably would have been sitting for hours on end waiting to be seen to. 

Nobody had seen 45 since the ordeal.

The thought clung to you, and you wondered just how long Command was planning on keeping you down here. Your fellows were chomping at the bit to see some action, and you couldn’t help but feel you were in the way. The ‘last piece of the puzzle’, allegedly.

You hung your towel over the railing at the end of your bed and donned your uniform, lacing your boots. As the only female soldier on base, you were afforded some special treatment. One of the isolation suites in the medical complex had been converted to some kind of ad-hoc lodging for you, and while you were grateful, you couldn’t help but feel mildly bothered by the onesided holographic viewport affixed to the wall of your makeshift quarters.

Whether it was the lingering feeling of eyes gazing at you from somewhere hidden, or just plain curiosity, the thought dawned upon you to do something about it.

Last night as you scoured through the recorded Omnic chatter, you _had_ found a few snippets of code that you deemed potentially useful in hypothetical future situations against the bots. It was likely possible to repurpose them here.

Opening a viewport, you selected the relevant code, checked it, and scanned your surroundings for a point of access. The holographic windows were projecting scenes from a central database, and gaining access with your wireless systems was easy enough. You isolated your specific window, ran the code, and shut it down without too much effort. The projection shut off.

Fuck.  
Mirror glass.

Cupping your hands around your eyes to block any potential light from your side, you placed your face to the window. Through the heavily tinted glass, you managed to make out the shapes and shadows of the corridor on the other side. Empty. For all those windows, it seemed that command wasn’t as hawk-eyed as you suspected; at least not right now.

Satisfied, you turned back to the doorway and started toward the training compound. You were to be debriefed on your new augments, then integrated into the various drills and simulations that your comrades were running. You reached the first meeting room, turned, and entered.

You stopped still. The head surgeon and ranking officers were obviously to be expected, but Reyes and Morrison were present, too. What were they doing here? You bit your lip and looked to Reyes, who offered a reassuring half-smile.

As unceremoniously as the first day you arrived, the door burst open behind you, and the officer who inducted you made his presence known once more.

“122, have a seat,” his gruff voice commanded. You obeyed, as he took his place opposite you.

“This meeting is dual-purpose. You’ll be debriefed and given your next set of instructions, but first, a disciplinary meeting.”

You swallowed and sat up straight, “Sir?”

Reyes winced.

“You’re the first of your kind. A new type of hybrid soldier, designed to keep our forces together,” he leaned forward, placing his palms face-down on the table, wide apart.  
“So would you like to explain to me why, in the seven hells, you thought it would be a good idea to repeatedly go against orders from your doctor?”

You looked to the surgeon. Your mouth went dry. He was right. It wasn’t entirely your fault, and there was certainly solid reasoning behind every decision you made, but you had disobeyed orders. You opened your mouth, but understanding that your explanations would find you no purchase here, no words came. He seemed to sense that you were struggling.

“I’ll list ‘em off, then,” he barked, “Leaving medbay before being given clearance. Immediately engaging in activities that you were instructed to avoid. Unsanctioned usage of SEP hardware before authorized, at 0300, to boot. Finally, tampering with SEP systems, just before you got here.”

Shit. He knew. How could he have known? Unless-

Your thoughts were interrupted by further grilling.

“I should have you detained-“

Abruptly, Reyes stood, cutting him off. You knew that Reyes was a senior officer, but this seemed ballsy, even for him.

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Denied! Don’t even get me started on you, you fuckin’ maverick - I know damn well that you had a hand in this.”

Reyes slowly sat down, inhaling through his teeth as if he’d just been wounded. You had him pegged for the type to bend rules, but could tell that he wasn’t used to being reprimanded.

“The only reason that you’re still seeing active duty is that we don’t have the time to train up anyone else. Which brings me to my next point - you seem to enjoy skirting the rules together with this muckety-muck, so you’re being placed under 24’s command, along with 76. I’ve instructed 76 to keep an eye on you both. It pains me to say it, but I can’t argue with how quickly you’re up and running. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

You relaxed a little.

“Don’t fuck this up, 122.”

Somehow, you got away with a slap on the wrist. The rest of the meeting proceeded without much incident. You were informed of the function of your augments, and told to report to the training complex to be issued your weapons and partake in drills and exercises. It would be a couple of weeks before your first deployment, but in that time, you still had a lot to learn.

“Dismissed.”

You stood and left the room, 24 and 76 following close behind. In the corridor, they fell in one either side of you as you made your way to the armory, the steady sound of your boots walking in time serving to calm your nerves.

“Figures I’d get stuck with you,” Morrison mused, “It’s almost like they _want_ me to rat on you.”

Reyes huffed and looked toward the two of you, his brows signaling some mild bemusement.

“You really think I’d give you that kind of power over me? God only knows what you’d make me do to buy your silence.”

76 choked out a stifled laugh at that, exchanging a look with Reyes that half spelled embarrassment and half belied a questioning disbelief. He ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

“You take (Y/N2) to get kitted out, I’ll go, uh, prep the range.”

He turned off down a nearby corridor, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. Reyes was very good at getting under 76’s skin, and though you couldn’t quite work out what just transpired between the two of them, you figured it was a question best left for another time.

Reyes stopped at a set of large steel doors, unlocking them by means of a brief retinal scan.

“After you.”

You stepped inside the armory, beholding walls of weapons, armor, various gadgets and a long corridor lined with sets of cabinets numbered according to the various soldiers on base. You eyed cabinet 45. Your brow furrowed.

“Here,” Reyes’ voice caught your attention, “Time to pick your poison.”

He was standing at a wall of weapons, all SEP issue, heavily modified and no doubt ahead of their time. The arsenal boasted plasma, pulse, laser, shock, energy, heat and conventional weapons alike. You spotted Reyes’ signature shotguns on display, among others.

You already knew what you were looking for. You walked past Reyes, and caught yourself admiring the way the cold light of the weapon racks fell against his features. Perhaps he wasn't so conventionally attractive, but there was something about that fact which drew you in - he was handsome in his own way. Careful not to stare, you continued past the conventional rifles, on to the pulse weapons. You spotted 76’s favorite, the heavy pulse rifle. While you envied his bravado, you knew your role would be better suited to the mid-long range Pulsed Impulsive Lethal Laser Assault Rifle. You picked one from the rack, looking it over.

“Nice tech, the _pillar_. Guardian angel, or just setting ‘em up so we can knock ‘em down?”

You jumped. Once again, 24 had managed to get right behind you without making a sound. He was right, though. You were the team’s tactician, and your job was part-spotter part-facilitator. The pillar, as it had become known among your comrades, wasn’t very powerful, but it did deliver a hell of a kick to whatever it touched, man or machine - enough to slow them for a short time, and it was deadly accurate. Between 24 and 76, you knew you’d have more than enough firepower to tear through whatever stood in your way. The important part was making sure they were able to lay that damage down and escape unharmed. You were confident in your choice.

“Both. Better to use a force multiplier, no? I mean, unless you wanna lug that sweet looking minigun around, for me...”

You motioned to a massive, belt-fed, clunky looking conventional machine gun mounted on a stand. It was clearly for display purposes, but you couldn’t shake the mental image of a large, bald, heavy-set Russian man lumbering around happily with it, in a _fort_ somewhere in times past. Perhaps, even enjoying a _sandwich_ , or a _chocolate bar_ as it rested by his side.

You shook your head. What an odd thought, and completely unprompted.

“Yeah right, (Y/N3). I’m guessing you want me to peel you a grape while you’re at it? Let's go.”

As he had so many times before, Reyes placed a hand gently on the back of your shoulders and motioned to the door. You obliged, a small smile creeping across your lips. Your commanding officer approved of your choice.

It wasn’t long before you arrived back at the range, ready to test your new weapon. Upon entry, you found the place startlingly quiet; 76 was nowhere to be seen. You shrugged it off, assuming he got caught up somewhere and would catch up later. You took your place at the second to last firing lane and prepped your rifle. Your eyes drifted to the end of the lane, noting that the target carrier had already been loaded with a fresh sheet. 76 had been true to his word and prepped the place, at least. 

“Alright, let’s see what you’re made of.”

Reyes adjusted the target so that it was positioned at the very end, near the backstop, and stood behind you, watching intently. Taking aim, you could feel his eyes on you. You recognized it as the same feeling from this morning, but this time, it was not unwelcome. You swallowed hard, feeling your face redden at the idea that you were actually enjoying the attention from your superior. Breath catching in your throat, you shakily lined up your shot and pulled the trigger. 

You missed.  
Shit.

From behind, you heard Reyes sigh. You could picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in disappointment, wondering exactly what kind of “guardian angel” he was paired with. Adrenaline’s icy-hot tendrils began to unfurl in your chest and make their way up your neck. You were still making an ass of yourself, and you’d been here for how long, now?

“You’re a mess. Here.”

You hadn’t heard him step toward you, but you suddenly felt the gentle heat of Reyes’ body pressed against your back. Once again, the smell of sweat and dirt. The rough skin of his fingertips slid along your right forearm, his left hand pulling your hips back into his. You became acutely aware of his breath against the side of your neck; humid, and steady.

“You’re nervous, and it shows. You’re standing all wrong. Lean into your weapon, use a more,” he paused, “ _assertive_ posture.”

His left fingers finding the bend between your thigh and hips, Reyes gently pulled your pelvis back against his and leaned forward, his chest pushing down on your back to bend you into a more effective firing stance. The adrenaline was still there, but now intermingled with some odd form of excitement, and it came to your realization that you really _were_ enjoying this. Far too much.

Firmly, he placed one boot on the inside of your ankle, and then the other, shifting your legs apart to a more stable stance. You found yourself obliging willingly, and though usually by now you would feel humiliated, at present it was the furthest thing from your mind. Deftly, his right hand found its way over yours, bringing the stock of your rifle up to your shoulder. You instinctively took aim at the target, the feeling of his pulse in his fingertips serving to steady you. The whole time, his body remained pressed tightly against yours, and you found that even your breathing began to match his.

You felt the slight coolness of the air flowing past your cheek as he inhaled, followed by the vague warmth on your neck of his exhale, and then at the bottom of his lungs came a raspy whisper, directly into your ear:

“ _Fire._ ”

You hit the target. Directly in the center of the kill zone.

“Good, again.”

You pressed back ever so slightly into the shape of his body, relishing every second of it, and still breathing in time.  
You inhaled, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

Hit.

“Again.”

His large, capable hands pulled back tighter on your hip, and you could feel the rough shape of something pressing against you through his trousers.

Inhale, exhale.  
Fire.

Hit.

“Again.”

By now, his breathing had deepened, and you could feel the air rushing past your jaw as he breathed. You felt as though electricity was coursing through your body.

Inhale, exhale.  
Fire. 

Hit.

“ _Again._ ”

His voice was quiet and raspy now, almost yearning. This kind of thing was forbidden on base, but really, who was going to stop you? You weren’t exactly breaking any rules. He adjusted slightly, and you felt the front of his thighs rubbing against the back of yours. You couldn’t help it, you shifted shifted your hips too, deliberately rubbing your posterior against your superior’s crotch.

You inhaled, and your breath caught in your throat.  
Fire.

...miss.

24 stepped back and you lowered your weapon, straightening your posture. Unsure of what to do, and now thoroughly aroused, you stood staring down the line at the obliterated target. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. You were certain a line had just been crossed, and with your direct superior, no less.

Your ears picked up at the sound of the door opening at the far end of the range.

You heard Reyes turn toward the sound and offer a greeting, and assumed Morrison had returned.

“Schedules just came through. I figured I’d go look ‘em over. It’s ah, interesting,” 76 called down the range, “I’ll go book us some time in the training facilities, I left the schedules on your bunk.”

“Understood, Morrison.” Reyes called back.

The door slid shut again.

Sensing that you were having a hard time processing what just happened, Reyes leaned close to you again and quietly spoke.

“Keep practicing for me. I’ll be back later. Oh, and by the way...”

You finally mustered the courage to turn around, beholding the face of the first person you’d felt physically attracted to in longer than you can remember. Despite any changes in perception you may have been worried about, he was still the same man. Just as insightful, just as uniquely attractive.

“Call me Gabe.”


End file.
